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The life and tortured afterlife of Ishrat Jahan

Some stories never get closure. Ishrat Jahan has once again come back to haunt some of our politicians, policemen and bureaucrats. But as we debate her death, I remember being surprised that day, June 17, 2004, to see Ishrat’s corner of their one-bedroom house in Mumbra, a largely Muslim ghetto in Mumbai. Her table had lots of books — on mathematics, statistics, science, but nothing on religion. I didn’t see a copy of the Quran. One of her teachers at the Khalsa College, where she was studying (BSc, second year), had told me she wanted to teach maths after she graduated.

Ishrat, just 19, had been killed by the Gujarat police in Ahmedabad two days back, on June 15, along with three men, for attempting to assassinate Narendra Modi, our prime minister now who was CM of that state then. An AK-47, which investigators later said might have been planted, was found next to her bullet-riddled body. She didn’t seem like she had put up a fight.

When I met Shamima Shaikh, Ishrat’s mother, she simply told me: “I don’t know how my daughter reached Ahmedabad.” Zeenat, the eldest of Ishrat’s sisters — she would later be grilled by the Mumbai police — too seemed bewildered by the fact that Ishrat was there with the three men, one of whom, in the words of a few Gujarat cops, was “close” to her.

Shamima’s shanty, I noticed, had dirty curtains, fraying at the ends. If Ishrat was indeed a terrorist, there was no trace that any of her handlers had helped the family financially.

The Thane police, like many others who knew Ishrat in Mumbra, was the first to vouch for her “good behaviour”. Soon after a preliminary probe, on June 17, after searches at Ishrat’s house, they said they found “no evidence” that she was linked to any radical organisation. ACP Amar Jadhav had then announced: “We have found nothing that could connect the girl with any terrorist group.” They had scanned every piece of paper, every part of the house.

At Ishrat’s college, her class teacher expressed shock. Vice-principal SC Dhume and principal Ajit Singh both said Ishrat was particular about her classes. She rarely missed her practicals and especially liked stats.

The world will perhaps never get to know if Ishrat Jahan was a terrorist and why she was killed in cold blood. She wasn’t interrogated, tried or given the benefit of doubt. She was straightaway handed her sentence — death on the highway — by a bunch of cops armed to the teeth and satisfied on the basis of very flimsy intelligence reports that she was out to kill Modi, who those days was facing severe and all round criticism, even from seniors in his own party, for the carnage that followed the Godhra train killings.

Encounters of the kind that took Ishrat’s young life are by their very nature suspect. Because it’s the words of those who kill against that of the dead, who as we all know can’t speak in the court of law. In case after case, the truth, or what is generally taken for one, is never known. Confounding the need for such action is also the highly politicised nature of our law enforcing agencies, the “caged parrot” repeating after its “mai-baap Sarkar”, toeing the line that serves them the best.

In the Ishrat Jahan episode, for instance, who do we believe? Those who say there was nothing much to suggest that she was a fidayeen or the other group that remains certain of her dark intentions. That we have lost trust and confidence in everyone — from the CBI to IB, the various special investigation teams to the state police — is as much a tragedy as are the sudden, suspicious killings that happen ever so often in our country in the name of encounters.

Even as the Parliament and our netas rage over the veracity of the affidavits detailing the many aspects of the Ishrat encounter and whether it was tampered and tinkered with, one thing all politicians need to work towards is depoliticising of the police and its allied arms.

Because stories need closure and there can’t be one if there is no faith in those entrusted to tell us the truth.

DISCLAIMER : Views expressed above are the author's own.

Author

Everyone needs one for the road - sometimes it's a prayer, other times it's a pal. Often we get it, often we don't. But as the road itself is changing, morphing and metamorphosing, how is young India travelling it, what are they thinking, feeling, battling, achieving, letting go and holding on to? This blog by Anand Soondas, senior editor. The Times of India, talks about people and it has people talk. people like us.

Everyone needs one for the road - sometimes it's a prayer, other times it's a pal. Often we get it, often we don't. But as the road itself is changing, morp. . .

Author

Everyone needs one for the road - sometimes it's a prayer, other times it's a pal. Often we get it, often we don't. But as the road itself is changing, morphing and metamorphosing, how is young India travelling it, what are they thinking, feeling, battling, achieving, letting go and holding on to? This blog by Anand Soondas, senior editor. The Times of India, talks about people and it has people talk. people like us.

Everyone needs one for the road - sometimes it's a prayer, other times it's a pal. Often we get it, often we don't. But as the road itself is changing, morp. . .